King's Hands
by Rivergift
Summary: A closer look at the events detailed in Chapter 8 of the The Return of the King, and an exploration into the shadowlands of the Black Breath. Written for the March 2015 Teitho challenge!


_When the black breath blows_

_and death's shadow grows_

_and all lights pass,_

_come athelas! come athelas!_

_Life to the dying_

_In the king's hand lying!_

It was not without regret that Gandalf came down to the Pelennor, in the bleak aftermath of the battle. Everywhere about him the land bore the scars of war, for great furrows of grass had been ripped up by the flailing hooves of fallen horses, or the mighty tusks of the oliphaunts from the South. And bitter indeed was the story told by the blood that stained the earth, and the bodies that lay there still.

A few soldiers had been dispatched from each army to gather and bury the dead, honouring them in their own fashion. The sad task weighed upon many souls, and he read little joy in the victory in the faces he saw, as they made their lone ways around the battlefield, kneeling and bearing their countrymen to the allotted space.

But the sight, sad though it was, was not the reason for the weight in his heart. He had come to seek Aragorn, and the healing that could only spring from those strong hands, but he knew what trials the man had faced, how long and arduous his road had been, and he would not have asked more of him, if he had the choice.

But Ioreth's words had awoken a spark of hope for the three who now lay still as death in the Houses of Healing: the hands of the king. In the far forsaken land in which those struck by the Black Breath wandered, his power could not reach; an Istar had many abilities, but the power to call life from death was not one of them. For a moment he had thought they would truly be lost, these three brave ones, and it would have grieved him- and many others- to have it so. Faramir was well-loved in Gondor, this gentle captain, and Gandalf remembered the young boy with a scholar's heart who had so avidly learnt everything the visiting wizard had to teach him. The lady Éowyn was accounted fair and brave by all, and to have struck down the Witch-king himself was no small deed. And, of course, the Brandybuck lad. For all his exasperation with Hobbits, Merry had proven himself a hero beyond all doubt, and he could not have borne the loss of this small, courageous spirit.

So it was that he had descended the six circles that lay between the Houses and the fields. Aragorn would not have willingly entered the city this day. In fact, if he knew the man at all, he would have pitched his tents on the battlefield itself, as the Dúnedain were well used to doing, foregoing the honour that could have been his. And Gandalf agreed: there was no place for the politics of power now. All that they had must be channeled towards salvaging the ruins of war, and creating a chance for those two who ventured the darkest paths...

Ah! He had found the one whom he sought, and it lifted him from the dark thoughts that haunted all contemplations of Frodo and Sam. A plan must be formulated, a distraction launched, but that would wait.

He took in the scene, and felt his throat contract. Aragorn knelt at the side of his kinsman, and Gandalf bowed his head, fighting down sorrow. Halbarad Dúnadan lay there, and valiantly had he fought, for even now his faithful hands were clenched around the standard of the king. He was marked by many wounds, and Gandalf knew he had been targeted by the foul orcs, roused to hatred by the beauty of the standard, and by what it meant. Seven stars, and seven stones...

He sighed. Now more than ever, he wished Aragorn could have the time to mourn this sworn brother, this loss atop all the other losses, but the living needed the attention, and the dead were, always, patient. Yet as he approached his heart lightened, for Aragorn was not alone.

Heeding his arrival, the sons of Elrond stood, planting themselves on either side of their foster brother, eyeing him combatively. And Legolas Greenleaf and Gimli son of Glóin positioned themselves firmly between he and Aragorn, staunch guards each one. The most incongruous desire to laugh rose in his breast. Hope's bearer was wearied, and burdened by sorrow, but he had stalwart friends indeed!

"He will not smite me with that staff, so there is no need to surround me like a fortress," the object of his attention murmured, and Aragorn rose himself, meeting Gandalf's eyes steadily. He examined the man, hiding his worry, for he did not know how many days his friend had gone without rest, or sustenance. His best guess was: too long. And still more would be needed, and the time for rest had not come.

"Perhaps they are wise," he sighed. "For I do not come with succour, old friend, but to ask some of you. Come with me into the city, to the high circle where the Houses of Healing stand, for there lie three lost to all hope- but that which you bring."

Aragorn regarded him carefully. "And what may that hope be?"

"The Lord Faramir, and the Lady Éowyn, and our friend Merry lie stricken with the Black Breath, and every moment they slip further from this world. They are far beyond the reach of any of Gondor's healers, but an old nurse had this to say: _The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known._"

Grief came into all five faces at the names, and at the sound of Merry's Gimli let out a cry of dismay.

"I shall make no claims today, of kingship or otherwise. But I would refuse no one what healing I may bring, though I know not how well it may avail them." Aragorn looked at his hands, stained with blood and dirt, and sighed. "I will come."

"Estel," and Gandalf heard restrained concern in Elladan's voice. Aragorn might have travelled long leagues, and held an army of the dead to his side by will alone, but still this son of Elrond would protect him with his life, and Gandalf was glad of it. "You are sore weary, and have little of yourself to offer."

"But if I hear him aright, these three have still less," Aragorn replied, and there was gentleness in his tone. "And I am not the only one of the line of Elrond and Elros here. Will you not also go into the city? In your hands too lies the gift of calling."

"In you it runs the strongest," Elrohir said. "But we will come. Many have been struck down, I deem, if not so grievously as the three."

"That is so, and I have not come to seek you only to have you collapse on me," Gandalf added, wryly. "I would not have come to you, if there had been any other choice. They are far gone, and I fear haste is needed, if we are to save them. If _you_ are to save them."

Aragorn drew in a breath, and for a moment Gandalf read the sorrow that he bore like a weight on his shoulders. His kinsman lay still at his feet, and there was no one to honour him in death, as he well deserved. But then he lifted his head, and his eyes were clear.

"We will bear him hence," a gruff voice said suddenly. Gandalf raised his eyebrows at Gimli, who stared back undaunted. "For there is certainly not one drop of healing in _my_ hands, and unless the Elf has been hiding it from me, in his either. Go, and bring hope, as you ever seem to be doing, and we will care for your kinsman, with all respect due. And if I come up to the city to find you have indeed laboured into collapse, take warning: my wrath shall be fierce!"

Legolas laughed suddenly, and the sombre light in his eyes lessened, the echoes of the Sea. "Gimli was just telling me of one of the Dwarves' time-honoured lessons. You would do well to learn it, Aragorn."

"And what would that be?" The man asked, with a long-suffering expression that Gandalf had long ago placed as the look of one arguing with the impossible, usually in the form of a Hobbit or a Dwarf. Perhaps short stature had something to do with stubbornness.

"Know your limits," grunted the Dwarf.

"And abide them," added the Elf.

Aragorn did not laugh, but a shadow of mirth played in his eyes, and as Gandalf took his arm, turning away, he saw satisfaction in the faces of these two unlikely friends.

* * *

Aragorn knelt at Faramir's side, and looked into his face. It was young, but worn, and the planes of his features echoed nobility. But he lay pale as death, and he knew that for this one most of all, time ran short. Without athelas, the path to call the lost back was harder than ever, but he must go forth upon it nonetheless, or risk losing Faramir's spirit to a place even he could not reach- to death.

He laid his hand upon Faramir's brow, and slipped into the land haunted by the young man's demons.

_The halls of the Citadel._

_When he opened his eyes, he wondered for a moment if he had perhaps swooned in his weariness, and was now not seeking Faramir, but dreaming by himself, for the marbled halls of kings were not what he would have expected to find. In the past, when he had ventured the dark paths of the Black Breath, he most often found his victims in desolate, barren lands, hopeless in nature as well as in spirit. But what lay here, in the heart of Minas Tirith, to shadow Faramir's steps?_

_A beat, and then he felt it: an oppressive aura hung in the air, and pressed down upon him. He shuddered, for this was not the Gondor he knew. A twisted reflection of it, rather. This might be more dangerous even than the barest valley or battlefield. And where was the one he sought?_

_He turned to face the main room, and nearly gasped at the weight that encroached. It was a complicated mix of doubt and fear and regret, and he wondered that Faramir's heart had borne it so long. Gathering his strength, he stepped into the room._

_There! Faramir stood before the Steward's chair, head bowed, and the defeat in his posture frightened Aragorn. And before him, in that gilded seat, sat Denethor._

_His sharp eyes lanced his son, and words echoed in the room, bitter words. Of anger and failure. Each one seemed to strike Faramir like an arrow, depleting his strength, and Aragorn heard the charges that most weighed upon this noble heart:_

_The failure to defend Gondor._

_The loss of his brother._

_That thought pushed him into action, for he remembered the love in Boromir's eyes when he spoke of his little brother. It recalled for him the love he saw in the eyes of the twins for him, and had touched him beyond measure. He had not let the White City fall: he would not now let Faramir fall._

_"Faramir, captain of Gondor!" Faramir's head lifted, and he looked around. "Heed not the shadows! But return to the light, for many wait for you."_

_"Lord?" Faramir's voice was tinged with wonder, as he beheld Aragorn. "Who are you, who comes shining like a messenger of the gods? Have you come to bear me over the Dark Sea?"_

_"No!" Aragorn cried, and stepped forward. "I am no god, but a man like you. And I have come to call you, not to death, but to life. For life awaits you, Faramir, son of the Steward."_

_But the mention of his father drained the light from Faramir's eyes. "There is little left for me in that life, my lord. Gladly would I follow you, but I fear I have not the strength. Yet I would thank you, for coming to me in this dream. You have given me hope, that there may be a future for Gondor. And in that knowledge, I can die in peace."_

_"Faramir!" He called again, but he felt himself fading, as his strength waned. He was losing his grounding in this world, as Faramir faded further, and he struggled to hold on, but dark waters were rising-_

"Aragorn!" His eyes flew open. Gandalf's strong arms clasped his, and he realised they were the only reason he was still upright. Worried eyes searched his. "If he is too far gone-"

"Not yet," he gritted out.

"You must not risk so much! You did not see yourself, a moment ago. For a second I thought you lost as well."

Aragorn's grey eyes snapped, and he would have berated Gandalf, but he found himself utterly unable to even stand. Gandalf lowered him into a chair by the bed. Softly, his old friend said, "You tried your best, but it is over."

And then the grace of the Valar smiled upon them, and in ran Bergil. In that moment Aragorn would have kissed the boy's feet gladly, if only to express his gratitude, and swiftly he crushed the leaves and slipped back into that world.

_Denethor had risen._

_He stood tall as the kings of old, but there was no mercy or justice in his face. Faramir, before him, was cast down. But Aragorn, watching, was suddenly roused at the injustice of this nightmare, for Denethor was no evil lord! He had his faults, but he had been a strong and wise man, before the end. And Aragorn remembered Thorongil's time in the city, and suddenly he knew._

_He burst forth, and stood between them, facing the bowed form of the Steward's son, and bending, he raised him to his feet. "Faramir, this is not the truth. You are caught in a bitter dream, but it is not the truth. Hear me! Your father loved you!"_

_Faramir's eyes were closed, but Aragorn clasped him tighter._

_"Many scores of years ago I stood in this very hall, and watched your christening! Faramir, when you were born, the city rejoiced. Your mother was weakened already, but the joy in her eyes could not be quenched! She stood before us all, fair as the morning sea, and held you up for all to see. And your father was aglow with pride. _

_He was a noble man, your father, despite it all. And losing your mother was a terrible blow, and he did not treat you as you deserved, but in his heart, never doubt this: he loved you!"_

_And as if the words had calmed a storm deep within Faramir's soul, the dark gloom lifted, just a little. _

_"And your brother- Faramir, from hundreds of leagues away his love for you burned strong! The mere mention of you would soften his eyes, this doughty warrior. On the hill of Amon Hen, I promised your brother that the White City would not fall. Will you not come, now, and help me fulfil this pledge?"_

_Faramir looked up, and his eyes were wide with awe and a newly kindled joy. "I will."_

* * *

_Suddenly Faramir stirred, and he opened his eyes, and he looked on Aragorn who bent over him; and a light of knowledge and love was kindled in his eyes, and he spoke softly. 'My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?'_

The Return of the King, The Houses of Healing.

* * *

Looking upon Éowyn's face called to mind that last grey day at Dunharrow, and the desperation barely hidden beneath the iron restraint of the White Lady. How his heart had cried out against leaving her in despair, but ever the threat of time pushed him on... and now the shieldmaiden had proven herself steady at the fore, but at what cost?

Brave was her spirit, but it had struggled for so long against the chains of duty that held back her fire. He called her name, and the fresh scent of the mountains sped his way, but ever beneath it all seethed the darkness and doom that had fallen upon her.

_She had told him, once, her greatest fear, and that was where he found her. _

_A deeper fear even than that of the cage that would dull the steel of her blade: she stood alone in Meduseld, but the Golden Hall was ravaged. Evil creatures had lain waste to it, and outside he knew Rohan was burning. Strewn across the floor were the broken and bloodied bodies of her countrymen, and the horror of it all stopped his breath. _

_In the midst of it, like a fair statue carven in stone, the lady of Rohan stood, and she was even now unbent. But there was emptiness in her eyes, as she looked down. At her feet lay her brother._

_"Éowyn Éomund's daughter," he called to her. "Hearken to my voice, and we shall leave this evil place. It holds only death, but there is a light beyond."_

_But she looked upon him wordless, and the frost of approaching death was laden upon her. _

_"Éowyn," he repeated, and, coming near, looked into her face. "Well do I know that my voice brings you little joy. Few things have brought me more regret than our parting beneath the shadow of the mountain. But look: you have come through that shadow victorious, and your enemy is dead by your hand. Was not your hope once for renown, and great deeds?"_

_"Renown?" She answered finally, and though she looked at him the distance between them was still great. "I was young then, lord, and you were right to turn me away. No, I hold no blame for you in this. And perhaps you speak true that there is a promise of life in your hands, but for me there is no promise in life. I have cast down an evil thing, and for that I am glad. In that I may now pass away." _

_She seemed to fade a little, and a great fear rose in his heart. He remembered the love in Éomer's eyes as he looked upon his sister, and sprang forward with a cry. "Éowyn! Wait!"_

_She stilled suddenly, and for the first time truly looked at him. He had, on instinct, borne by memories of the Golden Hall during his travels in Rohan, spoken in the tongue of Rohan, a rich and wild language. She gazed upon him, startled. _

_"You stand here now in a diminished hall, at the heart of all your fears. But I say to you that this shall not be. For your brother has risen in this fair morning to take the kingship unto himself, a young and fell lord. Is he not the very embodiment of the Rohirrim? When he rides into the wind and raises the call to your people, who can help but answer?"_

_A little pride entered her face, the barest smile. _

_"And there is hope yet that this War shall be won. The Home of the Horse-lords shall be as it once was in the days of Eorl the Young, when the Golden Hall was first built with naught but pride and passion. Your people, lady. They will look into the jaws of evil and laugh, for you are of a dauntless race. Do you not wish to look once more upon the rolling fields of your home, that stretch further than even Elf-eyes can see? And in the corrals to the West of Meduseld the horse-breeders raise their foals, the valiant ones who grow into warhorses. But that shall not be their fate._

_You shall see a time of peace upon the green hills. But all Rohan looks to you, lady, best beloved of the King's house. Even now your brother sits by you, and his love does not falter._

_Will you answer?"_

He did not wait, but faded back, and gently set her hand in Éomer's. As he slipped from the room he heard her cry out Éomer's name, and was glad.

Gandalf had followed him, and he was thankful for the wizard's hold as he listed against the wall.

"Ever do you bear burdens not meant for you," Gandalf muttered. "Her fate was not yours to decide."

"But I could have softened that blow," he replied. "That is past. I can only hope that she will find something worthwhile in the days to come, for I have called her back to life, but not to joy, I fear."

"Perhaps she will." There was an odd note in the Maia's voice, and Aragorn looked up sharply. A small smile played at the edges of Gandalf's mouth, and Aragorn raised his eyebrows, but the wizard would say nothing. Sighing, Aragorn stood, pushing off the wall.

"Fetch Pippin; Merry will want to see his cousin. I will be at his side."

* * *

The sight of a Hobbit, of all people, lying so still and grey pierced his heart. Merry had faced the Black Riders before, and that terror must have lingered in his mind. And yet he had defied the lord of the Riders, the most terrible of them all. Such courage- he could only pray it would not cost his life.

_Merry's landscape was more what he had expected of the Black Breath: a dry and barren land, stretched out further than the eye could see. He started, for he knew this place: it was the road to Mordor, and the memory of it was evil, for he had come here, decades ago._

_And in the middle of the path, small sword drawn, stood Meriadoc Brandybuck. He was defending Frodo and Sam, Aragorn understood suddenly, was, even in his mind, fighting for their safe passage. _

_"Stay back!" He cried, and brandished the sword, but Aragorn saw that his arms shook, and his face was grey with weariness. He had defended this pass for a long time now, the man realised, and was worn down by it. But still he stood firm._

_"Merry, do you not know me? I will not breach your defense: I will stand by you in it. Will you not come by me?"_

_"No, no..." Merry faltered, and the sword point wavered. "You are an apparition, a ghost, like all those who have come before you. And sooner or later you will- die- before me, or worse, turn into an evil creature- no, I can't bear it! Go!" _

_Aragorn's heart was smote by the misery in Merry's voice, but he did not move. "Merry, I am real. I sit beside you now in the world that you have left, and look upon you. You were struck down by a formidable foe indeed, but you in turn struck him, and in doing so have helped to bring down one of the greatest menaces this Age has known. And now you are lost in a nightmare of its making, but I will bring you back to the light. Will you not come?"_

_Merry hesitated, and the look of longing in his eyes made Aragorn wish with all his heart to reach for him, but he kept his arms by his side. Only Merry could choose. "Are you- Are you really..."_

_"The first time we met," and he smiled at this, "you were running in, all askew from an encounter with those same Riders. I called you both stout and foolish, but today, Meriadoc, I call you only this: brave."_

_A strangled cry escaped Merry's throat, and convinced by this final memory, he leapt forward, and Aragorn swept him into his arms, and held the shaking Hobbit close._

Merry awoke as only a Hobbit could, by asking for food. As they left, pausing outside the door, Gandalf and Aragorn listened to the soft murmur of the cousins' voices, and it was a glad sound, for they had feared not to hear them again.

"Now come," the wizard said, with all the authority of an Istar. "It is time for you to take rest, and food, or you will topple from the sixth circle to the first, and Gimli will hew my very beard off with that axe."

Aragorn cast him the most withering look he could muster, and went.

* * *

_At the doors of the Houses many were already gathered to see Aragorn, and they followed after him; and when at last he had supped, men came and prayed that he would heal their kinsmen or their friends whose lives were in peril through hurt or wound, or who lay under the Black Shadow. And Aragorn arose and went out, and he sent for the sons of Elrond, and together they laboured far into the night. And word went through the City: 'The King is come again indeed.' And they named him Elfstone, because of the green stone that he wore, and so the name which it was foretold at his birth that he should bear was chosen for him by his own people._

The Return of the King, The Houses of Healing.


End file.
